Vampire drabbles
by Daughter of Night
Summary: [NEW drabbles 8 to 12] Drabbles and ficlets, written for the same vampireverse as Anchors.
1. Hunter

**Author's note: **More from my vampire-verse! I recommend you to read Anchors first, it might make these ficlets less confusing. They're word prompts, and I'm not sure how many I'll do. As many as I have interest for, I guess.

This one is chronologically before Anchors.

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**Hunter **

He's crouching in the shadows, skin itching with the need to move, to reveal himself and draw the scent of the vampire's fear deep in his lungs as he gives chase. He doesn't. His mentor is a steadying presence beside him, keeping his mind focused and his instincts controlled. Vincent expects him to do this right and he won't let him down. Can't let him down, this demon that has protected and trained him.

Clawed fingers flick out commands and a brief glance at Vincent's face is enough to reaffirm his confidence. He can do this. He owes him this.

Muscles tense and send him hurtling toward his prey almost before he's aware he's moving. The faint whistle of displaced air alerts the vampire and he's turning, turning with the speed of his kind – too fast, too fast… He hits the taller male in the chest and not the back, but the vampire is too surprised to fight before his head slams against the asphalt with a crack, stunning him. There's panic in the dark eyes, panic as the mind realizes the danger but the body can't obey soon enough.

The artificial light of the streetlamps glint in a hawthorn dagger's silver inlays before it's buried in the vampire's heart. His body jerks, eyes widening before dimming in true death.

There's surprisingly little blood. Disappointing, almost. Raising one hand from the hilt, he watches the red wetness, fascinated. Bringing it closer, he licks it experimentally. Spits it back out, disgusted by the taste. The kill is fresh, but the corpse is not.

He stands up, placing that same hand on the vampire's forehead while the other remains on the dagger's hilt. A whispered incantation and the wood and silver blade is pulled out as the corpse begins to burn. The flames burn fierce and without heat, unnatural green as Jenova's eyes. It makes him wonder if she would be proud of his progress.

Vincent joins him next to the ashes that were once a blood-traitor, and Jenova no longer matters. His only thought is of his mentor's expression. A small smile graces the pale lips, warms the red eyes.

"Well done… Hunter."

And Cloud grins up at him, proud and pleased and grateful that he has achieved the title.


	2. Smile

**Smile **

Of all the people who have come and gone in Sephiroth's life, Cloud is the only one he's ever wanted back. It disturbs him on some level – pricking the inborn Noble arrogance, he assumes – that he's become so fond of a child, and a slave child at that, but the rest of him doesn't care. The Strife Hunters haven't been true slaves for centuries, and Cloud was never treated so callously.

It's been years since Cloud was sent away, but still Sephiroth glances at the door whenever he's alone, half expecting to see bright blue eyes peering at him. It was a ritual of theirs; Cloud's silly excuses for coming and Sephiroth's awkward attempts to play along. He never did understand why the boy sought him out so often, but it was… pleasant. Cloud was so at ease with him it made Sephiroth relax, and ruffling the blond spikes felt natural. Odd, really, since he'd never thought to do it with his little brothers.

But it's nothing as simple as companionship or habit that makes him snarl whenever he catches Valentine's scent in the house. That's jealousy – rage that a demon halfbreed who shouldn't even be alive is caring for Cloud, that Cloud is caring for him.

Sephiroth misses the feeling of being important to someone. He knows that Jenova loves him, but he's two-hundred and seventeen years old and her heir. There are no articulated or physical signs of that love, not anymore. That's simply the Noble way. Cloud didn't care about that, was likely too young to know he should care. He'd check up on Sephiroth because he wanted to know he was alright. He'd know the moment he stepped inside if Sephiroth needed him to speak or be quiet, and he'd adhere to it with a smile.

That warm, open smile…

Yes, the smile is what Sephiroth misses most. The open affection that made age and rank insignificant and allowed Sephiroth to act however he wanted, no restrictions or expectations. He could be childish or playful, though it took a long time to learn, and Cloud would never laugh at him, only with him.

Cloud's smile was freedom, and Sephiroth misses it dearly.


	3. Rage

**Author's note:** No reviews so far, but I got more hits than I'd expected so I know there's been some interest. It's even been faved! _-smiles-_ So here are a few more...

Prompt by **sean's girl**.

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**Rage **

A scream is all it takes to make him falter, and the scent of Cloud's blood and the echoes of his pain raise magic and chaos to incandescent rage.

Vincent can't hear it, can't hear anything but Cloud now, but he knows he's screaming, demon howls of fury. He lets his weapons fall, tearing through the enemies separating him from his brother with claws and magic. Blood and limbs of vampires foolish enough to stay are scattered across the room as the others flee in panic, magic setting them aflame as quick as oiled torches. Some escape, but he doesn't care about them now. All that matters is getting to Cloud.

Finally, the last enemy is dead, and Vincent can kneel at his brother's side. One bloodied hand traces the lines of strain on that beloved face, eyes drinking in the sight of the genuine smile as a surge of magic heals the Hunter's wound. Frowning at how his touch has marked Cloud, Vincent leans in and licks the blood from his face. It tastes unclean, but triumph is singing to him and he doesn't care.

"Thank you, brother."

Cloud's hand gently combs his hair and Vincent relaxes under the touch, chaos purring in contentment and magic humming with pleasure.

"Now," Cloud says, eyes glowing with feral anticipation, "let's hunt the rest down."

Chaos laughs.


	4. Melancholy

**Author's note:** I'd like to point out that this is a real drabble. Exactly 100 words, title and all. I've never managed to do one before, so I'm rather proud of it just for that. grins

Prompt by **sean's girl**.

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**Melancholy **

Some days Yazoo just wants to stay in bed.

He knows there are things to do, that his brothers are waiting, but he can't bring himself to care. He doesn't have the energy to part the drapes and see how the day is, doesn't have the will to pick a book from the bedside table and keep himself occupied. He just lies there, staring at the ceiling or the inside of his eyelids. He doesn't open the door to anyone, and on those days even his brothers won't come in.

Some days, Yazoo wishes he knew how to cry.


	5. Speed

**Author's note:** Another drabble! I must be on a roll...

Prompt by **sean's girl**.

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**Speed**

It amuses Jenova how many of her enemies will choose to duel her to avoid facing her retribution when their plots are discovered.

Speed and strength are the advantages of vampires over humans, and hers over other Nobles. They fear her strength because it places her above them, but anyone who's faced her in combat is grateful for her speed. It's her speed that allows her to kill them before they are aware she's made the first strike, her speed that makes their passing painless.

Everyone knows that is the only mercy they can expect from her.


	6. Intensity

**Author's note:** Longer than a drabble, again. _-sniffle-_

Prompt by **sean's girl**.

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**Intensity **

If anyone had dared to ask Sephiroth why he was friends with a mere human, he wouldn't have known what to say. He knew most in his House wondered, and sometimes he did too, but as long as no one asked he didn't need to worry about it. Didn't need to know.

He'd tried to reason it out when he'd first realized he didn't object to Zack giving him the title, and the attempt left him with a headache.

There was no logic behind it. Zack was human, with the short lifespan and the physical weakness that came with it. He had an empathic ability but it was more intuitive than conscious. He had no power to offer, held no political position that could benefit Sephiroth. Rationally, he was a poor ally. Useless.

In spite of those reasons he couldn't bring himself to get rid of Zack, not even when the man annoyed him. He wasn't an ally, and somehow Sephiroth had gotten attached to him. Possibly even fond of him.

Solitary by choice, Sephiroth was well aware he lacked social skills outside the laws and traditions that dictated vampire interaction. After Cloud had been sent away, he'd had little contact with humans who weren't donors or politicians. The awkwardness hadn't bothered Zack anymore than it had bothered Cloud, and the man – a teenager at the time – had simply shouldered his way into Sephiroth's life.

The brightness had been troubling at first, but Sephiroth adapted. The passion with which Zack lived his life was astounding, as if he were trying to cram centuries of feelings and experience into the few years he had been allotted. It was exhausting. It was intriguing.

Zack was like a flame, burning too hot and bright to last. Sephiroth wasn't sure why something so fleeting appealed to him, but for now he would soak up the warmth and hope he didn't get burned.


	7. Storm

**Author's note:** Prompt by **sean's girl**.

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**Storm **

Cloud laughed as the rain slowly forced his hair flat against his skull, unconcerned with the way the wind made him stagger along the roof. He had eyes for nothing but the lightning illuminating the night. He'd been born during a storm like this and caught in the growing energy teasing sparks along his skin he felt more alive than any adrenaline rush could make him.

He knew Vincent was behind him, watching him with the confused amusement he always did. He knew the demon was shirtless as Cloud himself was, though for very different reasons. Cloud wanted to feel the rain, the wind and the raw energy dancing together against his skin. Vincent needed no such reminder of life and chaos.

Turning towards his brother for the first time since they came outside, Cloud flashed him a smile and leaned backwards, letting wind and gravity take hold and sweep him off the roof.

For a moment he felt weightless, helpless, lost in the storm. Then strong arms caught him, dark wings beating hard to raise them both high into the storm. Held to his brother's chest, lightning flashing all around them, and with a faint hum of magic keeping them from getting struck, Cloud felt like a child again. Innocent and carefree.


	8. Dark

**Dark **

Life was dark now, dark and cold.

Kadaj hated seeing the members of his House all dressed in black and muted color. It meant that Kadaj and his brothers blended in after they'd given up their once favored green, and few had thought to question why they did it. They wore black now, the human color of mourning, and simple silver rings. Soft silk had been exchanged for sturdy leather in honor of the brother who'd been taken from them to be trained as a Hunter. The brother who'd given them the rings for remembrance.

Life was dark without the sunny yellow of Cloud's hair, cold without the warmth of Cloud's smile.

The triplets saw him sometimes, when House business required his presence, but he never came to visit them. Kadaj felt like breaking things whenever he saw the frozen expression on the face that once laughed so freely, felt like breaking people whenever he saw the pain and regret haunting the blue eyes that used to sparkle so. Felt like crying whenever he saw the coiled tension of battle-trained muscles ease at the sight of simple silver rings gleaming on the triplets' fingers.

Life was dark, but the flame of hope had not gone out.


	9. Flowers

**Author's note: **Yes, I'm cheerfully rearranging family ties to suit my purposes. It's my AU, and I highly doubt Square will sue me over it. _-grins-_

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**Flowers **

Midgar is not a place meant for earth witches. It closes them in with concrete and metal, cuts them off from the element they are bound to. It breaks the weak and forces them to leave the family land.

Ifalna was too strong to do that. She stayed, tending the earth that had known her mother's touch, and her grandmother's, and all the witches than had come before them. Her sister stayed, Elmyra's water magic a compliment to her own. Her daughter stayed, Aeris' affinity for flowers cheering the land in a way mere power didn't.

Year after year, their garden is full of flowers. Aeris has some for every season, ensuring that there is always the pleasant feel of green and growth, and the land – the _earth_ – loves her for it. Ifalna and Elmyra have the strength, but Aeris has the passion. Elmyra is the stream, Ifalna is the tree and Aeris is the flowering vines climbing it. Elmyra and Ifalna can nurture the land, but Aeris is the one who brings it joy.

When Aeris first brought the young Hunter to their home, Ifalna knew that all she needed to do was support her daughter. The vines were snaring him, binding feral instinct beneath a cover of harmless petals. The seeds of friendship would fall in fertile soil and even Elmyra could see they would grow tall. An oak, perhaps.

And now, as the Hunter brushes one of the water lilies with gentle fingers, Ifalna knows the lure of flowers have brought her an invaluable gift… A link to her grandmother's cousin.

Some day, Vincent will follow the Hunter back to the land that saw his mother born and buried.

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_Oak _means hospitality, peace, protection 

_Water lilies _mean truth (or pristine beauty, but it was the truth part I had in mind)


	10. Rain

**Author's note: **Ha, I managed another less-than-100-words drabble! I deserve cookies... _-skips off to the kitchen to bake-_

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**Rain **

Jenova doesn't care about heat and cold, wind and snow, thunder and lightning. They can be unpleasant, but they don't truly affect her.

Rain is different.

Not storms, but gentle drizzling rain.

On such days, she sends all company away and walks the grounds in solitude. She's no Lady then. She's just a woman lost in memory, walking with the ghosts of the past.

There are things to be done and people to speak to, but for the moment there's just her and the rain.


	11. Feral

**Author's note:** Prompt by **seans grrl**.

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**Feral **

When Yazoo was still a child, he used to wonder why vampire traditions and House protocols were so much stricter than human laws and customs. He adapted to the formality and learned to school his expression into a blank mask that he could hide behind. He played the games of House and court as well as Sephiroth did, making his mother proud. But despite all that, it wasn't until his first duel that he knew why the true-born had long ago chosen to hem themselves in with so many rules.

Standing in the circle, free of restrictions and with all senses focused on his opponent, Yazoo felt powerful. Instinct took over then, urging him to hunt, to feed… to kill.

He knew why his kind wore masks. Beneath the veneer of civilization, beneath the all the pretense at culture and refinement, vampires were as feral now as they were when they ran free and hunted alongside demons.

Yazoo kept playing the games, because he knew that admitting what he truly was would mean seeing his niisan's blue eyes wet with tears as the Hunter's blade struck home.


	12. Mist

**Author's note:** Prompt by **seans grrl**.

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**Mist **

Zack whistled merrily as he made his way through Midgar. He loved days like this, when thick white mist filled the streets. It hid some of the ugliness, softened the edges. It distorted sound and lent a near mystical presence to the city.

Even at twenty-four, he was still susceptible to that atmosphere.

He wondered if Sephiroth would be expecting him. Zack visited often, and had made a point of coaxing him outside on days like this, but the vampire somehow always appeared the slightest bit surprised to see him. It puzzled Zack, but he shrugged it off. It wasn't really any of his business unless Seph came right out and _said_ he was dropping by too often, was it? And if anyone needed to escape into the mist, it was Seph.

Zack frowned briefly before regaining his good mood.

Seph might not love the mist the way Zack did, but damn if it didn't make him smile when Zack ordered him out of the house.


End file.
